The Adventure of Victor Zsasz
by eye of the divine
Summary: My prompt was Victor Zsasz and Morgue, so lets see what happens when he wakes up in a morgue! I suck at titles apologies!


Zsasz' head throbbed, his fingers numbed from the cold. He couldn't remember how he'd ended up wherever the hell he was now. He was still working on opening his eyes. Luckily for him the surrounding area was probably dark, as he could see no light through his closed eyelids like he usually did when waking up. Wherever he was he could feel the cold metal on his back, a sinking feeling dragging his stomach down into his lower belly as the realisation dawned on him: he was quite possibly in a morgue. He recalled the last time he was in one with vivid clarity, especially the smell of the strong disinfectants they often needed to use. The smell that already had begun to permeate the area he was inhabiting.

The metal was smooth on his back but unrelenting making a dull ache creep up his spine. How long had he been lying there? Reaching back in his mind he tried to recall how he had ended up in this situation but all he could draw on was a blank. How had they not noticed the rise and fall of his chest? Hadn't they checked? Surely breathing wasn't that un-noticeable? Or hell, a heartbeat!? Finally his eyes peel themselves open. As he had predicted he was in total darkness.

Trying to sit up was a big mistake. His head banged against a ceiling forcing him back down on his back once more with a deafening CLANG, ringing in his ears as it reverberated off the very intimate space he was now aware of being in. Thankfully they had been kind enough to not put him in a body bag or a cold chamber with a negative temperature.

Subconsciously, his fingers traced down the centre of his chest, making sure he hadn't been cut open. Mentally, however, he chastised himself for doing something so stupid. His innards would be in a plastic bag by now if that was the case. Although he would never admit it, he was silently comforted by the feeling of the small dips of the self-inflicted notches on his skin instead of the large, thick thread he had almost expected to feel running down the centre of his body.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by voices, distant but quickly getting closer and closer. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his nerves and closed his eyes, hoping silently that they were coming for his not-so-corpse-like body. He knew they were his only hope of getting out of the confines of his fridge.

The dull thud that was his heartbeat, he suddenly realised, was beginning to sound more like a man repeatedly hammering in his chest. If they didn't pick his fridge he knew he'd have to make sure they knew a living person was in it and that wasn't really conducive to killing them before one of them shouted for help or worse, screamed. The closer the two came the louder their voices became even though they were still muffled by the unyielding metal door at his feet that could only be opened by them.

"So how far along is Jean now?"

"Oh, she's due next week. I'm on my last shift and taking the last of my annual leave. I'm hoping the little thing isn't a late baby."

"You'll be stuffed if it does arrive late then." The other man laughed, echoing a bit off the cold tiled walls outside.

The creaking of metal against metal wasn't surprising, so Zsasz kept his eyes closed and his breathing as shallow as possible, but nearly scuppered it when he felt himself being wheeled out of the fridge and a swift cold breeze came up between his legs. He came to the sudden realisation they had already removed his clothes and all he had covering himself was a thin bed sheet.

Internally, he cussed. This would be making things much trickier than they already were but at least he was out of the fridge. Attempting an escape was one thing; doing so in the nude was quite different as it would involve more effort on his part. He continued to feign death in the hopes that they wouldn't notice he was still breathing and his skin wasn't nearly pale enough to be a dead man's. The two men continued prattling as he lay there.

"Bloody hell, is that...?" There was a sharp sudden intake of breath above him.

"Yeah...It's Zsasz. Look at all those cuts..." He felt a finger trace over one of them and wanted nothing more than to cut it off for daring to touch him but he refrained for now.

"Talk about creepy." There was a shifting sound of material as they moved around him. With a metallic clatter he felt himself being wheeled along to god knows where. Internally he hoped it would be a room filled with sharp pointy things that he could use as weapons and far away from throngs of people.

It felt like hours just lying there with his eyes closed. Time seemed to flow like treacle; well, more like congeal than flow really as for the moment it seemed to have two porters were not helping the situation. He could feel how close they were and it made his skin crawl; like little bugs were trying to push their way out every time he felt the warm, accidental brush of skin against his.

Straining his ears he tried to ignore what they were talking about and listen to the other sounds he could pick up from his rickety ride down what felt like a never ending hall. Unfortunately for him, there was very little to hear: the constant hum of strip lights and the slight squeak of rubber soled shoes on the lino covered floor were all that greeted him.

After what was most probably the most mind numbingly dull conversation he had ever heard, Zsasz felt his trolley finally come to a halt. He still couldn't take a deep breath however as the two porters were still chattering away next to him.

What assaulted his nose next made him glad he couldn't. The burning, putrid smell of formaldehyde assailed him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. The acrid, pungent fluid making his stomach roll and weave as the nausea began to build. Silently he prayed for the two idiots to leave so he could at least attempt to make a bid for freedom. He began to become impatient; weighing up the pro's and con's in his head to see if it was worth moving now or waiting. In the end the con's won; or rather, the need for a cigarette break did, and silently he counted his blessings.

Cautiously, he began opening his eyes, ensuring he was alone, before sitting up. In all the pensive tallying he hadn't noticed the porters moving him on to the new table. Much like the last one it was cold hard metal, and the foam headrest stuck to the back of his head as he rose up. With an irritated growl he lobbed it across the room; it hit the whitewashed wall with a dull, muted thud and fell to the floor, innocuously mocking him.

The high-ridged edge of the table dug into the back of his thighs as he sat up and swung his legs over them but for the moment he ignored the discomfort as he took in his surroundings. To his left was another table and a wide door; presumably the way he had come in. Behind him he found an elongated metal sink with liquid iodine soap and disposable hand towel dispensers stuck to the wall.

His stomach gave another alarming heave as he breathed in but he managed to swallow down the bile that burned the back of his throat. Before him was a wall covered with fridges that must have been similar to the ones that he had been momentarily incarcerated in. Each one had slots, and while some held neatly handwritten cards in them, others were empty. To his right he saw two metal trolleys neatly arranged with sealed medical equipment, and next to them another exit which had some white medical coats hanging off the pegs on the back.

With no care at all he slid off the table, the bed sheet slipping silently to the lino floor. There was no one there to observe his nudity, and besides, trying to kill people and hold up a bedsheet at the same time was problematic as it required killing with one hand. As much of an ego as Zsasz had, he liked to have the upper hand in all the situations he could. If push came to shove he could just wear one of the medical coats until he found more clothes.

Once he was upright again he found the origin of the horrid smell that made his stomach heave and his head throbbed even more painfully than it had before. Small stacked white buckets were ferreted under the table he was lying on. The top most one had its lid removed, revealing the source to be a pungent clear fluid. The closer he went to the bucket, the more his stomach protested. Finally,his gut couldn't take any more and as fast as his wobbly legs could carry him he ran to the sinks and dry heaved.

It took him awhile to regain his composure. Small beads of perspiration slid down his skin and his muscles trembled slightly as the last wave of nausea left him. There was nothing left in his stomach to throw up, the small pool of bile that was his stomach contents was now running down the drain. The bitter acidic taste in his mouth lingered unpleasantly, so he took a moment to rinse his mouth out before turning his attention back to the room.

The lino floor was cool under his feet but not as cold as the fridge he had been stored in or the table they threw his "corpse" on. With no hesitation he made his way over to one of the trolleys. Rifling through its contents, he was happy to find numerous packaged sterile scalpels of varying sizes: they would do nicely for now. He opened one inspecting the keen blade, and was happy to find the handle was also plastic ones always had a tendency to break when he had occasionally grabbed them in the past. He placed it back down to inspect some other sterile implements, deciding if they were worth using or not.

His thoughts were interrupted as the heavy door next to the other trolley swung open with no warning. He knew it was a woman before he even saw her: he could smell her perfume, wafting through the crack between the door and the wall. He took a step back to avoid being hit by it, the momentum forcing the door back almost trapping him against the wall.

Acting on instinct alone, he plucked a coat off one of the pegs before the door moved too far away. The woman herself seemed distracted, reading a file of some description or another, and the door closed with a soft click as she moved further into the room. She was completely oblivious to the danger she was in right up until the coat was wrapped around her face and neck muting her screams.

The folder went flying in the air as her arms spasmodically flailed, groping blindly behind her. Her right leg kicked out behind her in a panicked attempt to hit tender flesh. All the while he tightened his grip, and with his left hand tried to pry away her fingers that were digging into the back of his right hand in a feeble attempt at causing him pain but all it did was entice him on further.

A sharp thrill of joy spiked across his psyche as his control over the situation became more and more apparent. Although his victim was more than a little reluctant to give up hope and her efforts only redoubled as the sheer weight of panic began to truly grip her mind. Her Surgical clogs shoe bit sharply into his shin, but it did very little towards the effort to free her.

What sped up her untimely demise was the now quite loud echoing sounds of their struggle as her panic began to truly take over. Zsasz knew he only had one opportunity for escape and was not going to let the loud mouthed bitch ruin it for him before he'd even started in little thought or remorse he slammed her head against the postmortem table that stood before them, once,twice and on the third impact her temple cracked on the sharp corner. The sound almost reminding him of thunder cracking across the sky.

After the third and final bone shattering strike her body fell limp. Zsasz didn't bother trying to support the dead weight, simply allowing the woman's body to fall with a dull thud to the ground. Using the loose edges of the coat and a firm, bare foothold on her shoulder blade he twisted her neck until he heard the bones grind against one another and finally snap. The sound was wonderfully final and echoed slightly in the large empty room.

Feeling decidedly content he took a moment to watch as the red bloomed on the white material; the wound on her head seeped blood at a leisurely pace, since there was no longer a heartbeat to force the blood out to the material. The coat gradually began sticking against the slowly clotting liquid as it rested around her head. He didn't have the luxury of taking his sweet time, unfortunately; but he could at least pose her before he left. Eyeing her body, wondering what to do with her, he noted that she wasn't too skinny. If he was lucky, he may actually be able to fit into her hospital-issue scrubs.

With renewed relish, he heaved the woman's corpse onto the table he had occupied not half an hour previously. He knew her Surgical clogs wouldn't fit him so he pulled them off and left them at the end of the table for now.

Next, he turned his attention to her trousers and thanked god for the phrase, "one size fits all." The trousers were drawstring at the waist and looked baggy enough around the thighs to accommodate him. So, with no shame or feelings of modesty to the woman he had murdered, he unfastened them and pulled them off in one swift motion, the back of her heels hitting the metal table with a dull thud.

Hopping into them, he found they were a bit snug but would do the job. After all, these garments would only get him out of the hospital; and after that, he would have to find new ones, or he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Luckily for him, Gotham was awash with homelessness and poverty; which meant that people often aren't missed until they turn up on a slab awaiting a cause of death. Most would rot away there because there was no known next of kin to contact. They would bury them eventually,of course, but they had to wait a "reasonable" amount of time beforehand.

Finally satisfied with the trousers he turned his attention to her top half. He pondered a moment the wisdom of removing the lab coat but decided against it since the blood would only be more likely to mar the material of the useful garment. With careful precision he managed to remove it without a speck of a stain in sight.

Now he felt happier, he felt like he could spare a few minutes to play. The elation built in his chest as he pondered what to do with the body. His hands itched as he stood there formulating a plan on what to do with her.

Whilst he pondered, he unraveled the lab coat and brushed aside her long blonde locks to get a better look at her. He guessed she was pretty, they always looked so much better once he had liberated them. It was a shame he couldn't slit her throat but needs must as they say. It wasn't until now he noticed how tall she actually was, his eyes tracked down to the trousers for a moment; noting, that fit the length of his leg very well considering how tall he was.

His eyes examined her half cast green eyes, there was almost some clarity in their fogginess but no one else ever really saw it; well, they were zombies, what did they know? Much more carefully than he put her on the table he picked her up once more and headed for the closest corner of the room.

With a little difficulty he managed to pose her. Using the grip on her clog shoes to keep her legs from slipping,he leant her dead weight on the wall for support. Carefully managing to fold her arm around her knees, he rested the other one so that it was hidden away against her chest. Gravity was pulling down her head anyway, so he helped facilitate the process by gently resting her forehead against her knees, having to twist her neck back to its correct position and tilting her head to the side slightly as he went.

Zsasz took a moment to admire his work, the display reminding him slightly of a crying child. Kneeling beside her, he waited in silence, making sure she wouldn't slump over and ruin his hard work after he left. He was happy with his choice: when someone found her, they wouldn't even be able to see the hole in her temple, or the blood matted in her hair.

The hard floor began to make his knees ache but he was used to ignoring such trivial things. Spending sixteen hours a day trapped in a small cell taught one patience and the ability to deal with the minor inconveniences. His routine was always the same in these precarious moments, he would wait but no matter what he tried he would, without fail find himself holding his breath. Like breathing on them would make them topple over. This very rarely happened, he found he had a knack with posing them, all it took was a bit of knowledge on gravity and what the body can and can't do.

As he continued his vigil he noted her eyeliner had smudged when he killed her but there wasn't much he could do about that now. He pondered for a moment, thinking on the many women he had liberated over his life and wondered if they all had smudged eyeliner. He couldn't recall, nor in truth did he really care, he thought it added to this one's apperance, it made her look like she really was weeping.

As the moments crept by he was finally satisfied she wasn't going anywhere. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, the zombies only ruined them by moving them. He knew that it was important though, even if they didn't understand his mission. His knee joints made a satisfying clicking sound as he stood. Now he had clothes and the corpse posed he didn't feel the need to rush quite so much as before. He knew of course that the best was yet to come, he could now reward himself with a new mark.

With a quick measured stride he made his way back to the trolley where he found the scalpels. It was only then he noted the dead weight in the t shirt pocket that bashed rhythmically into his abdomen as he walked. Fishing his fingers inside he was happy to find a mobile phone, wallet and a Hospital ID card. He didn't bother removing them to inspect them for now, he only stuffed a few sealed packs of scalpels in and reached across for the largest lab coat.

Surprisingly the lab coat was baggy on his broad shoulders. Since they were there he stuffed the remaining scalpels into the over sized pockets. The feeling of anticipation building in his chest now felt like it would explode out of his chest anyway it could. Like his ribs would eventually crack and his trachea would rip itself open if he didn't get the mark he so desperately deserved.

Rolling up his sleeve, he knew exactly where she belonged. There was a tiny space in the joint of his elbow that would be just perfect for her. Taking the blade he'd liberated from it's packaging before he was interrupted and in one swift motion he made the incision. There was a second's delay, then the crimson liquid began to flow freely against his pale marred skin.

The sensation never really changed, the flush of pleasure he experienced every time he claimed his reward. People thought he enjoyed the killing, and to a point he did, what he really got enjoyment though was the knowledge that he had liberated another soul; to him it was all about the numbers. His skin was a record for every single one of them.

With little thought he wandered over to the sink, scalpel still in hand he turned the tap on and rinsed away the blood and dabbing it dry with the paper towels next to the sink. The area around the cut was flushed for the moment but that would die down once the white blood cells had evacuated the area and the clotting process began to show. Grabbing the stained lab coat he disposed of them and the paper towel in the bin after wiping the blade clean he stuffed it back into the right hand pocket of the lab coat he now wore.

Making his way to the exit the female doctor came in through; he listened at the door, hearing no signs of life only the dull constant buzz of more strip lights that had become so familiar he almost didn't notice them.

Only hesitating for a fraction of a second he poked his head out of the door. The sight that greeted him was quite relieving. All that greeted him was old yellow stained whitewashed walls that stretched out both to his left and right, every so often there was a door but there was no signs of life to be seen or heard.

When he craned his neck further he could see the end of each side of the corridor. The left lead to a dead end however he could see a large set of lift doors which would undoubtedly lead to an exit. He was almost positive that he was on the basement level of Gotham city general wasn't really known for being the most modern building in the world.

Silently he slid past the ajar door and managed to close it without it making a sound. It didn't look like the place had a fire exit; which only added further credence to the hypothesis this place was the ancient City General Hospital. His bare feet made no sound as he began walking down the right hand side of the corridor.

So far all of the doors were closed and he did not feel like tempting fate, so he ignored them as he moved further down the corridor. When he got closer to the lift he noted two locker rooms and to his relief they were propped open with shoes. He heard nothing and so pushed his way into the men's changing room cautiously.

After double checking the room was indeed empty he rifled through the shoe rack looking for a pair that would fit him and help him blend in. Just as he was about to give up hope of finding anything in his size he struck gold. They were old, ratty looking pair of surgical clogs, whoever had last used them had neglected to clean off the droplets of blood that had caked themselves onto the creased faded white leather.

With no hesitation they were slipped onto his feet. Next he began rifling through the coat pockets that hung on pegs across from the shoe rack. He wasn't stupid enough to grab the credit cards, he much preferred working with cash. Cash couldn't be traced back to him and the more anonymous he became, he knew made his mission that much more likely to succeed. He wasn't stupid, he knew the chances are he would die before he'd liberate everyone but he hoped that by that time he would have done enough to make a difference.

Stuffing the bank notes in the tee shirt pocket he made his way back to the exit repeating the process of listening cautiously at the door before exiting. Finally he arrived at the entrance of the lift, it seemed he was fortuitous to keep the doctors identification card as it was his only way of opening the door. There were no calling buttons, just a card reader next to the sealed metal doors.

In one swift motion the doors yielded to him, the waft of antiseptic floor cleaner seemed stronger in the confined space but at least it didn't have the same effect as the buckets of formaldehyde. With a vicious jab he pressed the button and waited for it to take him to his intended destination, his head still throbbed painfully but as far as possible concussions went it was not the worst he'd experienced.

A shuddering jerk and an obnoxious dinging noise announced his arrival back into civilisation. He had to admit he wasn't expecting the accident and emergency room to be quite so packed. Cautiously he made his way through the crowds of injured people that seemed to have swarmed the place. Once or twice a nurse would try and get his attention but he ignored them all making a bid for the main entrance in the hope he could slip away undetected.

What was awaiting him outside was a bit of a surprise, a full on snow storm was not what he was expecting to see; especially since it was August when he last looked at a calendar. Pondering the strange weather he came to the conclusion Victor Fries must be out and about from Arkham again, he was usually the cause of such inclement weather. Contented with this conclusion he began walking to the multistory car park in the hopes of finding more suitable clothing and more opportunities to liberate some souls.

* * *

Special thank you to jazz-sparks & Watashi-wa-inori-tsuzukeru for proof reading this work for me!


End file.
